


Waiting

by Last_Haven



Series: Love Is [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Haven/pseuds/Last_Haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and England haven't seen each other in three months, but they can't have a proper reunion just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the usxuk community's Sweetheart Week over on livejournal. Prompt was 'Close to You'. Beta-read by the lovely Ellarose C.

America stared hard at his watch as the minute hand slowly revolved its face. England’s plane was supposed to arrive from Dublin so that he could join America for a three week visit twenty minutes ago. It was technically for work—their bosses wanted them both present as representatives hammered out the finishing details on a new project before signing some papers. In reality, neither of them were especially necessary to the talks and could have probably talked their way out of it, but they hadn’t seen each other for nearly three months, and it was as good as an excuse to see each other as anything. Sitting through some mind-numbingly boring meetings would be a small price to pay for getting to see each other for nearly a whole month.

However, England’s plane was still late by twenty minutes and it was beginning to wear on America. If the plane took much longer, there would be absolutely no time to drag his boyfriend off to kiss each other senseless in the bathroom like he planned. He grumbled to himself and fidgeted in his chair to the disapproval of one of the officials who had been sent to greet the British party of politicians.

Ten minutes later, America was slumped half way down his chair, so thoroughly depressed he almost missed the announcement of the plane arriving from Dublin. He jolted upward when the people around him stood then nearly leapt to his feet when he saw the first person come out. Craning his neck, he all but stood on his tiptoes to see over the crowd—he didn’t care what he looked like. He hadn’t seen his boyfriend in ages, and damnit, what did he care that he looked over eager—he _was_ eager!

At last, the British party entered the terminal and America grinned when he spotted a familiar hair of messy blond hair. America would bet that England had fallen asleep on the flight and had forgotten to pack a comb with him again by the way the back of his hair stood up at unnatural angles.

Despite how excited he was to see his fellow nation, he forced himself to stay put as the British officials slowly made their way to them, although he could do little to stop from fidgeting. After what seemed like an absurdly long time to move nearly twenty feet, the two groups met up and began to greet each other.

Under threat of punishment from his boss for bad behavior—mainly running the risk of having so much paperwork dumped on him it would take him a month to dig himself out, thus destroying any chance of going on an actual date—America managed to smile and warmly greet each British politician until at last England stepped up to him. Rather than toss himself at England and smother him desperately with kisses, America struggled to keep his greeting to a firm handshake and the warmest smile he could manage.

In front of him, England’s polite façade fell off for a moment and he regarded America with one of his rare genuine smiles, one that actually reached his eyes, setting off a glimmer there that nearly wrecked America’s self control. “Hello, Alfred,” England murmured quietly.

“Long time no see,” America answered a little too eagerly for someone greeting a supposed colleague. He realized belatedly that he needed to let go of England’s hand now, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. England’s touch was like a shock of electricity, waking up some sensitivity in his hands that seemed to catalogue every detail of the Brit’s hand. They were slightly cool but dry, skin pulled tight across the knuckles but calloused in many places of the palm and fingers, scars hidden to all but America’s keen sight because he knew where to look for them. Three months he dreamed of these hands—it took all his will power not to pull the extremity up to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. England, however, probably wouldn’t appreciate that, no matter how loving gesture.

Finally, he forced his fingers to uncurl; to his relief, he saw England pull his hand away with just as much hesitancy. He smiled up at England, but the island nation only glanced away and coughed. “Sorry for the delay; the boarding took longer than expected.”

“Dude, it’s an airplane—at least you’re only half an hour late instead of a full hour,” he replied with a grin, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them from wandering.

“Don’t fidget, America,” England scolded, switching from English to the language all nations spoke. The other representatives didn’t need to hear him criticizing America.

“Yes, _Mom.”_

England pinned America with a stare that left America grinning; oh, with a look like that, America knew he was going to get it tonight. He could hardly wait.

One of the other diplomats spoke, suggesting they get moving to their meeting. America bit his lip to keep from pouting; he and England wouldn’t be sharing a car ride to the meeting. When America’s last boss found out that they had skipped a meeting to go fuck like a pair of rabbits, he’d forbidden them from sharing a car before meetings, and told his next boss to do the same. To be fair, if he and England were taking the same car this time, it would totally happen again.

Giving his boyfriend one last incredibly indiscrete look of longing, America followed his politicians to the cars waiting outside for them. The ride wasn’t long, but it was maddeningly boring when all he could think about was how England was only a few cars behind him, but just as untouchable as before.

When they got to the meeting room, he failed to hide a grin as England sidled up next to him, taking the seat at his side. They had barely sat down for a minute before he felt England’s hand cover his own.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he smiled as he watched England feign attention to the proceedings before him. Slowly, he turned his hand so he could thread their fingers together, letting their joined hands rest between them.

Cool but dry, tight but calloused, scarred but beautiful, America’s world seemed to shrink down to that point of contact. After three months of only texting, phone calls, and a rare webcam session, it was hardly enough to begin to satisfy America. It would have to do, anyway.

Smiling like the dope he was, he ran his thumb over England’s knuckles and reveled in the touch as England squeezed back.


End file.
